Because of My Mother
by Anonmyous999
Summary: Full of sarcasm, witty banter, and a rack that draws everyone's eyes Darcy grew up a bit differently than other children her age... Parentage and circumstances were never what she chose, yet she tried her best with what she was left with. This is a Darcy-centric fic and the first of it's kind for me - criticism is welcomed (un-beta'd)
1. Chapter 1: Reasons

The first time someone asked her why she carried and _illegal_ Taser her shoulders snap back, spine ramrod straight, defiance in her eyes and the bite of her words sharper than any knife. Yet the response she got felt like a sucker-punch to the sternum, knocking every last breath out leaving disbelief behind in its hollowed space. They believed it was something loving and tinged with worry – but they were wrong, oh so painfully wrong! How could they not see, how could her façade be that true to hide all the disgust, the loathing, the hatred? "_Because of my_ **_Mother_**" never felt more like swallowing glass – and every time someone (different) asked, the answer though varied in words still rang with the fundamental reason, was deeply tinged with disgust and the snap at the end of _Mother_ was strong enough for even the most hardened of warriors flinching – even if they don't (really) understand why.


	2. Chapter 2: Heart

Chapter 2: Heart

The first (but really the second) time she was asked by the first (_second_) person in her life that mattered, she froze. Terror, anticipation, and _excitement _dug their claws deep within her very _soul_, her mind at war with itself. She was so tired of the ignorance, the shear facevalue acceptance and sitting not five feet from away was the (second) most important person to have been allowed so close, asking what so many others have and the only one with the possibility of hearing the truth. The entire truth. Maybe it was time to tell the tale only two living (and one dead) knew. Emotions in chaos she steels her resolve and chokes out; _"Because my Mother -" _and the words lodge themselves in her throat, a painful lump to be swallowed. As she takes a shuttering breath, gearing up to continue her story the determination, the drive fueling her left in a whoosh of disbelief, her ears refusing to comprehend what they were processing. The women that was considered her _best friend _was singing _praises for her mother_. That she wished _her _mother was like that and on, and on. With glassy eyes and a breaking heart, she can't force back the single tear that breaks free and falls, lost in her long locks. With a smile sharper than usual and her heart tucked back behind cracked concrete walls, she looks out towards the stars and ignores her boss' drunken ramblings - promising herself her heart would never suffer another crack. As she sits with her light-weight boss, talking about nothing yet everything the questions about the infamous Taser were dropped and stuffed under the inconsequential. As she tucks her boss into bed she can't help but _hopewishpray _that tomorrow will be better and her living nightmare wouldn't seem so real in the new light. As she closes the (shared) bedroom door she wedges herself between the battered and leaning dresser and wall, body facing the closed door and Taser gripped within white knuckled fingers. She thinks of The Man with a rapsheet longer than she is tall and how that even though she was _free _she would never _be _free - and this way she could hold her nightmares, sleeping and awake at bay. When the sun rose high enough to be called Day, she will have had her coffee and nobody but her (and Heimdall) would know of her post as guard throughout the night.


	3. Chapter 3: Hope

The last time she answers all she gave was a sad, soul crushing smile with eyes too dull and posture defeated as she handed her beloved TASER, the one that _felled the god of Thunder_; to the Jack-Booted-Thug (thank you Erick) her words were muted, dull and barely a whisper compared to the shear force of _life_ that usually flowed from the voluptuous woman that they were almost missed. However Coulson's act-alike just quirks an eyebrow before departing like the shadowy secret agency that they are, leaving behind nothing but an empty feeling and a sense of loss. The had just saved _the world_ from fricken _Space Elves_ and now with Jane all packed up and shipped off who-knows-where and iPod stealing secret agency confiscating everything including the kitchen sink, leaving Darcy stranded with nobody to turn to and with all the NDA's she signed she van't even rely on interning for Jane (unpaid) for a nice addition to her resume. So stranded, forgotten, and with a single name rattling around her head with the words _"If you're in trouble, call me" _tumbing through her shattering psyche she turns down the destroyed street in search of a (working) phone booth, fingers clenched over the change in her pocket and finally something she can do.

The call is short, tense, and leaves the slightest taste of _Freedom_, the sense of _home_ at the tip of her tongue and that alone shifts her back into _her_, not the ditzy air-brained assistent everyone believes. The paranoia that was shoved down behind so many layers of _fake_ and _bullshit_ snaps back into place before the receiver even reaches the cradle. Eyes dart back and forth taking in everything but not lingering on anything. She knows the call was too long (but not long enough, _never_ long enough) and anyone (SHIELD) could be locked on her already (if the weren't from the start). She needed shadows, she needed to be Underground and even as the absent minded assistant she kept tabs on her contacts, never failing on keeping communication going, even if nobody else would (could never in a million years) understand the complex and _beautifully crafted_ language she had created (from scratch) _by herself_ at the tender age of thirteen.


	4. Chapter 4: Captured

It shouldn't have surprised her. For the last few months? years? tghe paranoia would not stop trying to break through the thickly constructed walls of her psyche and yet she continusiouly shoved them down and ignored the (now) blantent cause, and it is a sharp sting to her pride. After everything pointing to the world throwing one hit after another the fact that after _everything_ SHIELD has done to screw up her life them being _infested_ with HYDRA is just another thing on the list of "_totally saw THAT (one) coming_". But she **did** ignore the warnings, and she **is** being taken by HYDRA and as the arms around her chest and neck tighten and a sikly-sweet smelling cloth is shoved over her mouth and nose she feels only a slight satisifaction that dispite her slacking in training she _still_ manageed to take down 3, hurt another 2, and possibly killed another. Dispite fighting the burning need to inhale her body does not obay and as her vision doubles and starts to fade she casts a glancing look towards a dark, shadowed enclove across the street and is relieved to see the small crouched form hidden within. With the slight nod from her contact she knows word will spread and news will reach the necessairy people in hours, if not by morning. With the last whisps of strength faiding away she slumps, boneless against the muscled body behind her and knows that even if they take her alive, there is no guarentiee of how long that will last...


	5. Chapter 5: News

It was not a few hours. It was not the next morning. By the time the contact was able to make it through the chanels 12 hours had already passed. The news didn't reach American soil for another 18 hours. A courrior carring the incripted letter did not deliver ir until after another 15 hours had passed, which caused the letter to be 'lost' within the mailing system. The letter ends up in the wrong state because of this and takes another 21 hours to enter the correct state, much less the town. After another 7 hours a security guard at a maximum prison delivers the inmates letter to solitary. It has been 3 days and nobody knows where Darcy Lewis is or if she is even alive.


End file.
